


Collar Full

by ArubaBlue



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Collars, Fluff, Generally Subby Ryan, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:07:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23342944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArubaBlue/pseuds/ArubaBlue
Summary: The crew helps Ryan take a load off.
Relationships: Jeremy Dooley/Gavin Free/Ryan Haywood, Jeremy Dooley/Ryan Haywood, OT6 - Relationship, Ryan Haywood/Geoff Ramsey, Ryan Haywood/Jack Pattillo, Ryan Haywood/Michael Jones
Comments: 12
Kudos: 96





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: As with all RPF, please remain respectful of the boundaries set by AH, Rooster Teeth, and anyone involved with the source material in any capacity. This is a work of fiction used to explore my own ideas, not to reflect anything true in these peoples’ lives. 
> 
> WARNING: Vague discussions of past abuse, nothing very explicit.

It all starts out as a big joke, one originating in a crowded room filled with celebrating Fake AH Crew members. The whole team heisted together this time, including B Team, even some Roosters and Sirens. Meg's there, and she actually manages to get the Vagabond drunk - a feat made possible by Ryan's inability to refuse her a thing. Chaos doesn’t begin to describe the penthouse, especially since Lindsay’s there, and drunk Ryan proves clingy and chaotic in equal measure in the confusing environment. 

Being drunk at a loud, overstimulating party makes Ryan feel unsure – scared, even – despite knowing that he’s probably in the safest room in the city. Nobody here would even think of taking advantage of him in this state, but he still feels naive and vulnerable. It mostly translates to ornery, defensive behavior. 

“Ryan, you’re acting like a lunatic, Ryan!” Gavin yells as Ryan aims a clumsy slap at his controller, leaping out of the way. 

“N-no, you’re th’lunatic.” Ryan slurs. “’S not my fault Nintendo sucks.” His little Boo swerves violently as he turns his attention back to the game, and he curses loudly as he slides off the edge of a grate in-game. 

Deciding nothing could be gained from actively trying to win anymore, Ryan instead sets out to sabotage the other players. Starting by lobbing an empty Diet Coke can at Gavin, who clumsily dodges and causes the can to bounce harmlessly off the couch. 

“Ryan! You’re out of control!” Michael yells in support of his boi. “Drunk Ryan is a god damn menace!” As he says it, Matt slides across the finish line, far ahead of even second place. 

Ryan yells at Matt and Boo and Mario Kart all at once when he’s cut off with the feeling of something touching his neck. He flinches in surprise and hears Michael snort loudly next to him. 

“Aww, I know how to calm our poor little Rye down.” Jeremy says, and something clicks. 

“Wh - what -” Ryan’s hand shoots to his neck, feeling supple leather between his fingers. A… collar? The other Fakes roar with laughter, Jack threatening to fall off his chair altogether. “What the - what is this?” 

“Damn, about time someone put a leash on him.” Michael crows. 

“Aww, that's brilliant, Jeremy! Perfect for our li'l puppy Rye.” Gavin says with a fond scratch behind Ryan's ear. Ryan feels himself redden in response. Jeremy has, in a matter of seconds, tightened an oddly comfortable leather collar around his neck. 

Ryan whips around to see Jeremy smiling down at him. The look isn't unkind, even though he is clearly amused at Ryan's expense. "W-what the hell, Jeremy?" The words come out as more of a whine than Ryan intends. "Where did you even get - hrrk!” Jeremy gives the collar an experimental tug, cutting Ryan off. 

He's so startled he doesn't think to speak again, instead just gaping at Jeremy. Only then does he notice the long silver chain rolling between Jeremy's strong, blunt fingers. Ryan's silence lasts just a bit too long, because Jeremy laughs and runs the fingers of his free hand through Ryan’s hair, the light scratch of his nails heaven against his scalp. 

“Good boy.” The other Fakes laugh with renewed force, now, and Ryan simply flushes and curls up on the floor next to Jeremy's chair. 

He grunts. “'M too tired for this shit. Whatever.” He mumbles grumpily. He yelps in surprise when Jeremy abruptly tugs on his collar again. 

“Language, Rye.” Jeremy's eyes glint and Ryan grumbles, but doesn’t speak again. The other Fakes don’t stop their laughter or ribbing for the rest of the night, but Ryan finds that, for some strange reason, he doesn’t care. There’s something about this situation - the collar, maybe, and Jeremy and Gavin giving him kind smiles and little scratches, and all of the Fakes gathered together like this - that makes him feel a little drowsy, a little more secure than he normally did. He certainly forgot about how vulnerable drunkenness made him feel. 

Jeremy, Gavin, the Fakes - they made him feel safe. And, although he refuses to think too much about it, he really doesn’t mind the way Jeremy continues to pet his hair even when he slumps down and falls asleep against his legs. It’s almost familiar, the way the collar makes him feel, but he finds that, like many of his memories, he can’t press too hard on it, knows that it will lead to something he doesn’t want to experience right now. Maybe ever. 

When he wakes up, the collar is still on him, but Jeremy and Gav are gone. Ryan makes to stand, but the leash remains entwined with the chair Jeremy had been sitting on. The collar yanks against Ryan's neck and forces him to kneel back down. He thinks about trying again - he's perfectly capable of freeing himself, too - but there's a drowsy comfort remaining from last night that makes him decide that he‘s too tired and that he can just wait. 

He sleepily studies his surroundings - a lot of the others have also fallen asleep in the same room. Curling up around the foot of the chair, snuggled up in his nest, he watches his crewmates sleep with half-lidded eyes. He doesn’t know how long he lies there until Jeremy enters the room. 

“Rye-Bread?” The voice is soft but contains a note of surprise. “Are you awake?” 

“Mmhmm.” Ryan slowly sits up as Jeremy approaches, looking up at him groggily. 

“Huh. I thought you would have - …“

“…What? Would have… what?” 

“Nothing. It's not important.” Jeremy smiles benevolently at Ryan and reaches down to take the leash. Ryan stands as Jeremy picks the leash up, following him into the kitchen. "You must not feel too great after last night, huh? First time getting drunk, and all?" Ryan blinks, uncertain. He hadn't really thought about it. He feels fine, he thinks - doesn't feel any of the blinding hangover headache he'd heard so much about. If anything, he might just feel a little drowsy. 

“Mmm. 'M okay. Little sleepy." He mumbles, and Jeremy gently rubs his back. Ryan sighs a little, leaning against him. "That feels nice." 

Jeremy guides him over to a chair, pushing him down gently. He reaches around with careful fingers and carefully unclasps the collar, laying it down beside Ryan. Ryan makes a little surprised noise, rubbing his neck absently. He'd already gotten used to the collar being fastened there. His neck felt weirdly… empty, now. Jeremy gives him an odd look as he does so. 

“Mmm. I’ll make you some breakfast and coffee, alright?”

“Okay. Thanks, Jeremy.“ Ryan murmurs, blearily watching him move around. He keeps giving Ryan looks. "What's up?" Ryan asks as he rests his head on his arms drowsily, and lets Jeremy work. Surprisingly, the others haven't woken up yet, leaving the kitchen quiet and peaceful for the two of them. 

"Oh. Nothing." Jeremy replies with a little smile. 

Ryan must have dozed off, because when he looks back up, Jeremy has placed breakfast and coffee before him, and Gavin has joined him in the kitchen. He shoots Ryan a grin, and when he slowly sits up, Jeremy gives his cheek a gentle stroke with the back of his hand. 

“Huh?” 

At the same time, Gavin runs his hand affectionately through Ryan’s hair, just as he had last night, and Ryan starts. “W-what’s going on, with all this? Th – this … touching, and petting and … stuff?” 

“Well, I just remembered this always worked, back at the Agency. It helped settle you down when things got a little overwhelming. And last night you seemed overwhelmed, buddy.” 

“Th-that’s not – really? From the Agency? …I don’t remember any of that.” However, even as he says it, his eyes start to glaze over a little, clearly becoming lost in his memories. Jeremy’s eyes widen in concern, and he glances up to Gavin. The taller man frowns. Neither Ryan nor Jeremy had full, coherent memories of the Agency or of what had happened to them there. With all the abuse and gaslighting they’d experienced, they found it near impossible to determine which memories of theirs were real or fake. 

Jeremy shakes his head, then shoots Ryan a comforting smile. “Did you like it, though? The collar?” Clearly trying to distract the man to some extent, Ryan blinks and seems to return to the present. 

“Y-yeah.” He mumbles shyly, flushing bright red. “Actually. Urm. Can I. Have it again?” He asks weakly, and Gavin’s blinding grin is answer enough. 

“Course, love. We’ll get a little food in you, then you’re getting some proper rest.” Gavin states, surprising authority in his tone. Ryan just nods, shivering in relief when Gavin clasps the collar back over his neck. 

Jeremy smiles kindly at him. 

“Good boy, Ryan.”


	2. Comfort

The next time follows a rough heist. Things went bad, and the crew got hurt. Respawn took longer than ever – far too long – to bring the team back. They’d all long since taken respawn for granted, forgotten the fear and reverence that kept them from abusing it, way back in the beginning. 

Ryan had been terrified, but Geoff had been worse – pacing around the respawn room, kicking things around, ranting loudly and drunkenly even though he’d been sober for weeks at that point. 

He spewed horrible vitriol at Ryan for letting the crew die. Ryan should have been faster, he claimed, should have gotten there in time to put himself between the bullets and Geoff’s boys. Ryan had tried his best, truly, he had. 

The longer respawn took, the closer he came to crying for the first time in decades. The more the cold seed of despair in the pit of his stomach grew into something icy and horrified that pumped through Ryan’s veins and filled him with that light-headed sick-scared-desperate feeling that knocked him to his knees. 

Eventually, the crew did come back, but the respawn process proved rougher than ever and left the crew ill and tired and weak. That night, inevitably, Ryan feels far too tense to sleep, opting instead to slip away and hide out on the roof. He huddles there, alone, and fiddles with his pocketknife. He flips it open and shut, twirls it between his fingers. Considers the twitch in his legs, the itch in his trigger finger. He wants nothing more than to go and get lost in the endless, monotonous desert landscape around them, to escape from Geoff’s scrutiny and his own shame and the broken figures draped around the penthouse. 

But he can't go anywhere, not now. It's almost dark, and he needs to stay at the penthouse to protect his unwell crewmates. So, he stays, and tries valiantly to ignore the sick, sour knot still weighing heavy in the pit of his stomach. 

He knows Geoff was right. He should have been faster, should have done more, should have just been better. The crew will hate him when they wake up and realize what a terrible failure he is, when they realize that he let them get hurt. Let them die. Ryan doesn’t want to think about looking at the others tomorrow morning, just wants to run and run. 

He shudders. It’s ridiculous how goddamn cold the desert is at night. And how deceptively unhelpful his leather jacket proves in keeping him warm. He can’t go back in though, not yet, so he just tucks his head into his knees and hugs his arms around his legs, savoring the silence punctuated only by his own heartbeat. 

He’s finally starting to calm, when someone sits heavily right beside him. Ryan yelps and jumps in alarm. What the hell? He must have dozed off or zoned out somehow – nobody could get the drop on him like that after all these years as a high-stakes criminal. 

It’s Michael, silhouetted against the light of the setting sun. He isn’t looking directly at Ryan, instead staring out over the city as it bathes in orange light. He looks better than he did right after emerging from respawn, although Ryan can tell he’s not back to full capacity. Even though Michael seems far from hostile or accusatory, Ryan feels himself slipping into defense mode anyhow. “F-fuck! Shit, Michael,” he hisses, “you trying to give me a heart attack?” 

“Ahh, shut up.” Michael snaps in response. “You’re supposed to be the big bad Vagabond, right? Don’t go shitting yourself over your goddamn crewmate showing up.” Ryan frowns but says nothing else. His whole body tensing up in anticipation. 

Michael is going to lay into him at any second, Ryan just knows it. He must recognize what Ryan did, how bad Ryan really was. It had taken so long to gain any trust within the crew, and now he’d gone and lost it all over again. 

He’s surprised, then, when Michael speaks, and opens not with chastisement but instead a casual, “Hey, you know that what Geoff said doesn't matter, right?” Ryan says nothing. He’s not sure where Michael is going with this. “I saw the tapes. From when everyone was out, and Geoff was ranting at you.” He says by way of explanation. “Sometimes things just go bad, Ryan. He only said all that shit in the heat of the moment. He’s a grumpy old fuck who got scared, none of us are actually upset with you.” 

“Yeah, of course. I don’t care what he says." Ryan grumbles. Michael gives him a knowing look. "I don't!" He protests. 

“Is that why you’re out here sulking, then?” He asks pointedly. 

“I’m not sulking.” 

“Sure.” 

“I’m not! I – I – “ Ryan wants to say more, wants to tell Michael that he’d tried his best, that he wanted so badly to be good, and for the crew not to be upset with him, but he isn’t ready yet. “ – I’m not sulking.” He finally settles on, and Michael raises his eyebrows, clearly unimpressed. Ryan can tell Michael knows he didn’t say what he really wanted. 

All he says, though, is a simple "Okay." Ryan frowns at him. "Whatever.” He finishes. 

Silence stretches out between them, and Ryan picks at his shoe and avoids Michael’s gaze. Finally, he manages to verbalize at least one thing that’s bothering him. “Gavin’s okay?” 

Michael snorts. “Yeah, he’s fine. He was being a dramatic bitch, but he always is, you know? The leg’ll be fine.” Ryan sighs heavily. “Seriously. It wasn’t your fault, Rye. Shit happens.” 

“I know, Michael.” Suddenly something smacks into his masked face, and Ryan startles again. A thick winter jacket sits crumpled on his lap where it landed. 

“What the hell?” 

“If you know so much, come inside, dipshit. You’re worse than Gavin, you’re gonna fucking freeze. And don’t think we don’t know you got stabbed.” Michael all but growls, and Ryan recognizes the gruff words as little more than tough love that he doesn’t deserve. 

Ryan doesn’t move for a long time, and Michael eventually turns back to the sunset. He takes out a cigarette and lights it with a flick of his hand, taking a long drag. After a moment, Ryan reluctantly puts the jacket on. 

“S’cold.” 

“I know, stupid.” 

“…Thanks, Michael.” 

They sit there for a moment. Ryan shivers again. 

He thinks he might be ready now. Not just to tell Michael what was wrong, but to face Michael’s inevitable angry response. “I was worried about you guys, Michael. I really was.” He starts. Dark brown eyes slide over to look at him, Michael’s expression remaining neutral. “When respawn wasn't working, I mean. I know Geoff doesn't think I was, and - and there's no reason for any of you to believe me, really.” Ryan explains, plucking anxiously at his jacket between thoughts. 

“But I thought - I thought that you were all gone, and - and I was scared. I wasn't fast enough. Strong enough. I - I wasn't - I just wasn't enough." Ryan stumbles on the words, chokes on them, because he never admits that he’s scared - especially not to his teammates - but the words need to be said. “I’m – I’m sorry that I couldn’t be better for you, Michael. I’m sorry I was so – so slow, and bad, and – and that I made you go through all that stuff with respawn. I’m – I’m really sorry.” 

Michael stays silent, but he places an arm around Ryan. He’s wrapping something around Ryan’s neck. Ryan recognizes the familiar softness of the collar from a few nights ago, faint exasperation sparking in his mind. Of course Gavin would give his boi a full report. 

Despite Ryan’s vague embarrassment about the whole situation, he can’t help but let out a small sigh of relief as Michael gently tugs at the leash, the movement pulling down the length of the chain until his collar tightens pleasingly around his neck. Ryan should hate this. He should be trying to rip the collar off, trying to squirm away, but the collar fills him with terrible comfort. 

This night, this whole situation, strike him as terribly strange and confusing, and much like the first time, Ryan feels like he’s spiraling out of control. But Michael’s grip is firm, his presence calm, and Michael’s control is good enough for Ryan tonight. 

“Good boy.” Michael murmurs with soft amusement. “You’re alright.“ Michael gently removes his hat and mask and starts doing that gentle petting thing that Ryan can’t resist. “You weren’t bad, Rye. You were good. You did good. You tried your best and we all know it, even Geoff.” 

Ryan doesn’t reply for a long moment. “R-really?” He finally asks. 

“Really. He wants to apologize, buddy. He just wasn’t sure when to come talk to you.” 

“O-oh.” Ryan says. He’s not sure what else to say about it. Of course he wants to make up with Geoff, but he isn’t sure he’s ready to talk yet, either. The thought of it still makes a chill spark up his spine. 

“You’re a good boy, Rye, and we’re alright.“ Michael soothes, and Ryan lets out a contented little murmur. “We won’t leave you, Ryan. It’s over. We’re here.“ Ryan nods against Michael’s arm. “Good. Let‘s get you warmed up.” Ryan nods again, but makes no movement aside from those guided by Michael’s gentle tugs on the leash. He looks reluctantly through the window of the penthouse, and Michael apparently anticipated this. 

“Geoff isn’t mad, Rye, I promise. Nobody’s going to hurt you, nobody is upset with you. Everything’s okay.” Ryan wants to protest, but Michael says it’s true, and all Ryan wants in the world right now is to trust Michael. So he just nods slowly. 

“Do you want to come with me tonight?” Michael’s inquiry is remarkably gentle for such a brash man, but Ryan also feels unusually obedient. He nods slowly. “Okay, buddy. We’re going to get you fixed up, then we’re going to say goodnight to Geoff and Gav. Then we’re going get you to bed.”

“Okay, Michael.”

Michael winds his fingers around the chain of Ryan’s leash, and together, they head back to Michael’s room. Ryan isn’t entirely sure what he was expecting, but once they’re ready for bed, Michael simply lifts the corner of his top blanket and beckons Ryan in. Ryan curls obediently next to Michael, who unclips the chain leash, and Ryan lets Michael pet him until he can sleep again. 


	3. Boundaries

It happens a third time before Jack finally brings it up in an “official” capacity. 

The team gathered in the common room, more of them injured than not (though nobody in particularly bad shape). Respawn hurts terribly and tends to leave the crew with what they’ve dubbed “respawn sickness.” So, they generally use medical care for minor injuries until they can heal for good later. 

Jack sits on an armchair separate from the others, comparatively uninjured with just a shallow slash to the back. He usually cares for the crew, but given he’s not an official doctor, Geoff opted to call in Larry this time. 

Jeremy stretches across the sofa, perhaps the worst of them with burns across the right half of his body, while Geoff lies across a blanket nest on the floor with a concussion. Michael has bandages wrapped tightly around his chest with a bullet wound, while Gavin alternates between fussing over Michael and whining about his own sprained wrist. 

However, honestly, Jack finds Ryan most concerning right now, curled as he is on the floor, one arm in a sling and bruises painting the skin of his neck and face from where he’d been strangled and taken some heavy hits otherwise. He’s been given an ice pack which lies draped over his eyes as per instruction. He’s trembling slightly, and Jack knows it’s because his lack of sight unnerves him. He walks over to him, making sure to step loudly and conspicuously. 

Jack knows what he needs to do, what Ryan needs more than anything else when he’s in this state. A lot of people might assume that the Vagabond dominated everyone around him when nothing could really be further from the truth. Ryan was honestly so… submissive to his teammates, whether it be following every command given him to doing anything he could to hear a word of praise from his crewmates. 

He needed a firm guiding hand more than he needed his own power or people to command, Jack knew. He needed the collar. 

“Rye-Bread?” He asks gently. 

“J-Jack?” 

“Yeah, bud. It’s me.” Ryan immediately reaches out to him, needy in his vulnerable state. 

“Look, can – can we go, please? I don’t wanna be here anymore. They – they’re all yelling, and I don’t know what’s wrong – “ Ryan’s voice is filled with nearly childlike distress – fear – moreso than Jack thinks he’s ever heard before. Wordlessly, Jack stands, carefully crouching next to Ryan. 

“I’m here,” he warns Ryan quietly, then calls to Jeremy, “I’m gonna take Ryan to his room, alright?” Jeremy nods tiredly, and Jack places a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. Even though he knew that Jack was there, Ryan flinches slightly, and he allows Jack to sling his good arm around his shoulder, and guide him with one gentle hand on his back. Once they are out of sight of the others, Jack takes out the collar. 

“Where do you even keep that?” Ryan murmurs the words with a slight, despairing chuckle, but he brushes his neck into Jack’s careful fingers. One hand rises hesitantly to touch Jack, to feel out his location, but Ryan freezes before he touches the man. Jack notices and takes Ryan’s hand in his own. 

“Don‘t worry, honey.” Jack clips the leash to Ryan’s collar with his other hand, and keeping the chain wound tightly enough that Ryan will feel his presence no matter what, Jack carefully walks them down the hall. 

By the time they reach Ryan’s room, the man has stopped shaking. His fingers are still twined with Jack’s and his head is dipped in obedience with the leash, and Jack smiles. 

“Darling? We need to start to set some boundaries.” 

“What do you mean?” The words are muffled against Jack’s sleeve and slightly slurred. 

“I mean, we need to talk about this.” Jack hooks one finger into Ryan’s collar, and he shakes it slightly. Ryan lets out an instinctive whimper. 

“I don’t wanna.” 

“Yes, dear, but I need to know how far we can take this. You need to be safe.” 

“Mmnngg. Please, no, you’re making it so weird. You‘re making it - making it a thing.” Jack lets out a startled chuckle. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but this is the third time it’s happened. I think it already is a thing.” 

“Nng.” 

“Do you want it to stop?” 

“…”

“…”

“…No.” 

“Alright, then. We’ll need safe words - one for slow, one for stop. And then, we need to decide when and where you want the collar, and finally who you want to be able to know about and use the collar.”

Ryan groans, feeling slightly sick. He never imagined that he would one day be sitting on his bed in the Kingpin’s penthouse, deciding on safe words for his collar thing with Geoff Ramsey’s right-hand man. “I - I dunno - I don’t know any safe words, really.” 

Jack hums. “How about we start simple - “green light” is “alright” or “keep going”, “yellow light” is “slow down”, and “red light” is “stop”. 

“Mmkay, that sounds alright.” 

“Ok? And, where do you want the collar?” 

“I - I guess that I’m ok anywhere. Just, I guess, keep my room a safe room, unless I say it’s ok?” 

“Alright. And… the rest of the team?” 

Ryan shivers, unsure. “I don‘t - I don‘t know. I, uh… I trust you guys. I guess that - I guess it would be ok if they knew eventually, and were - ok with it, or even if - if they did it too.” 

“Alright, Ryan. Very good. Nothing will happen without your consent. See? That wasn’t so hard, was it, love?” Jack pulls Ryan towards him affectionately, letting him lean his head against his chest. 

“Mmfph.”


	4. Injuries

The collaring and leashing don't stop. If anything, it just gets worse (for a given definition of the word, that is) – certainly more frequent. Gavin just refuses to shut the fuck up about what it does to Ryan, and the others start using it too. Doesn’t matter the situation - they just up and whip out the fucking leash, every time. The worst part is - … Ryan kind of likes it. 

He knows he shouldn’t enjoy it so much, that he’s taking a huge risk in letting himself fall under the control of another. Of course, the crew would never do anything without his consent, even if the the surrender sometimes wracks his nerves. Moreso than that, however… the control, the affection, it makes him feel great, and fills him with a fuzzy, dizzying feeling that scares him more than anything. 

“Hey, Rye, we need to talk.” The gentle hand on Ryan’s shoulder contrasts Geoff’s stern voice. 

“Hey, Geoff. What about?” 

“Well…” Geoff starts, blowing out a breath and searching for the right words. “You’re not healthy, Ryan.“

Ryan nearly trips. “Wait, what? I’m fit – I’m fine. I can fight, Geoff, really. If this is just about that time that we - “ 

“No, Ryan – I don’t mean in a fight. I know how much you work out and spar with Jeremy, and that. But you have no goddamn self-preservation instincts, Ryan. You don’t eat well, you don’t sleep well, you pay no attention to your needs. Not to mention how you act when you’re sick or hurt – it’s a miracle that you haven’t already gotten hurt worse by now. You need to take better care of yourself, starting tonight.” 

“Geoff, I’m fine. I don’t need an intervention, or whatever, and if worse comes to worst, I can just blow my brains out.” Geoff’s concern embarrasses him, and embarrassment, like many emotions, generally leads to defensive deflection from Ryan. “Plus, doesn’t it not matter to you anyway as long as I can fight?” The words are half-joking but also half-serious – his health is important for keeping the rest of the crew in good health. Other than that, he wasn’t needed, right? Geoff shoots him a sharp look that nearly stops his heart in his chest. The temperature in the room feels twenty degrees colder, suddenly. 

Ryan squirms, going from energetically defiant to uncomfortable with Geoff’s fierce look, something inside him trembling. He’s crossed a boundary, and he knows it. 

“You know that I care for you – and the rest of the team cares for you – more than just a crime boss and crew would. We prove it to you every single day, Ryan. It’s insulting that you would imply otherwise, and you will not do it ever again.” As Geoff speaks, voice layered with unspoken threats, he pulls a collar out of his drawer. It’s not one of the usual supple leather ones, but one of the uncomfortable, cold, metal chain ones - a punishment collar. He pulls the leash tight around Ryan’s neck, yanking the chain hard enough for Ryan to yelp. “Do you understand? Will you be good?” 

Ryan gives Geoff a wavering look, a spark of his usual defiance remaining despite the collar driving his instinct to submit. Geoff yanks the chain again, his gaze steely and unyielding. It’s enough to cause Ryan to flinch, but not enough to inflict any real damage. 

“Answer me when I speak to you.” 

The defiance wins. "What does it matter to you?" Ryan snaps, pawing aggressively at the leash, trying his best to swat Geoff's hand off of it.

"Hey!" Geoff barks, yanking the leash back until Ryan is stretched back into an awkward position, mechanically forcing his submission.

"No!" Ryan yelps, flailing his limbs. "You don't - you don't mean it! You don't care!" He tries to say, realizing he's suddenly closer to sobbing than he ever would be in his right mind. "You were - you were so mad at me. You – you hated me." The words come out akin to a whimper.

"...What?" Geoff asks, his hand slackening in Ryan's leash. Ryan immediately takes the advantage to sit up and crouch defensively back on the bed.

"When the rest of the crew - they all got hurt, with respawn, you were - you were so mad at me for not doing better." Ryan chews on his lip, the memories bringing back the upset he'd felt back then. He nearly whines. “Y-you said it should have been me, that I should have been faster.” 

Geoff looks taken aback, but Ryan barrels on. “I didn’t mean t-to fail them, Geoff. I wanted to be good, and – and do better. I'm sorry I wasn't good." This time, real tears well in his eyes, gathering until he's sure they'll fall if he blinks. He's shaking, he's scared - the familiar feeling of needing control, comfort - anything to pull him out of this mess. He doesn't realize when he starts crying, only when Geoff gently wipes his tears away.

"No, no.” He immediately soothes. “I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry. You're good, you're always so good for us. I should never have lost my temper like that." The rational part of Ryan knows that Geoff didn't mean anything by what he'd said, that it was pure emotion. He'd already apologized, and Ryan had already forgiven him. But this deeper-down, emotional part of him needed Geoff's reassurance.

"'S okay." He tries, sniffling. He nuzzles up as close as he can, Geoff petting him as he does so.

"No, baby. It's not. If I hurt you, it's not okay. And I hurt you." Ryan sniffles and stays quiet. "Rye, you're perfect. You're always giving to us - for us - doing your best to take care of us. You're a very good boy. I just lost my mind, I didn't mean any of it."

"I - I forgive you. I just needed..."

"I know, love. It's alright." Geoff gently cradles him, rocking back and forth as though to soothe a child. "But you still need to take better care of yourself. I love you. The crew loves you. We're all just worried about you. We wanna take care of you, buddy."

“…Okay.” Ryan mumbles as he squirms, refusing to meet Geoff's eye. "I'll be good." Geoff smiles at him a soft thing.

"Good boy." Geoff murmurs.

Ryan is all soft obedience now, and he finds, almost against his will, that he’s basking in Geoff’s firm affection after the uncomfortable stress of their earlier altercation. Geoff is very good at this, the training and the discipline and the kindness, and Ryan thinks it might be because he’s trained so many of the crew's dogs before. Geoff lets Ryan lean against him, allows him to nestle his face into Geoff’s jacket and seek comfort and forgiveness for his misbehavior, and Geoff runs his hands through Ryan‘s hair to let him know that he is forgiven.

“Go change then come back here. You’re spending the night with me, tonight.” Ryan nods, but the leash feels terribly light and wrong without Geoff’s hand guiding it. He resolves to get changed as quickly as possible, and returns in minutes. He isn't in the Kingpin's room all that much, and he thinks the place is an argument for conspicuous consumption. Full floor-to-ceiling bulletproof windows overlooking the city, a fireplace, a jacuzzi, a huge television, a grand piano in the corner. Massive bookshelves containing tomes and tomes, books that get Ryan's fingers itching to pull them down, examine them. But for now, their focus stays on Geoff's unnaturally luxurious bed.

Geoff gives him a soft smile, and leads him over to his soft, massive bed. He carefully removes the metal leash, and replaces it with a soft, silky collar that he keeps in his nightstand. He carefully tucks Ryan into a little nest he makes of the fluffy bedding and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. Ryan resists purring in pleasure as Geoff leans over him to turn off the light. The rest of the team has really gotten into this leash and collar thing, but Geoff is always the one with the most luxurious ones. Ryan idly rubs his neck against the bedding to feel the sensation of it dragging over his neck, watching with half-lidded eyes as Geoff works the fireplace to life. 

As the fire blazes in the fireplace, Geoff makes his way to the piano, starting to play and singing softly along with it. Ryan recognizes the strains of his favorite melodies, and despite Geoff's passionate but inexpert singing, the scene makes his eyelids grow heavy.  
It’s just when Ryan’s about to fall asleep when Geoff stops playing, crawls into bed, and wraps a large, protective arm around Ryan’s limp frame. Ryan curls into the Kingpin, and they don’t awaken for another 12 hours.

Ryan awakens the next morning to Geoff’s half-lidded gaze across from him on the pillow. He smiles warmly at Ryan, who returns it sleepily before curling back up against Geoff, head tucked under the older man’s chin.


	5. Touch-Starved

Jeremy discovered that Ryan liked to be touched about three missions in at the Agency, when they’d gone from coworkers to Battle Buddies. He wanted to be petted and hugged and cuddled, pretty much at all times, but suffered the curse of not knowing how to ask for it in any capacity, and not knowing how to _handle_ it more often than not. 

Jeremy had caught on when Ryan had practically melted into a puddle of goo in response to a friendly, adrenaline-fueled post-mission hug, then blushed and stammered furiously when Jeremy had commented on it. 

He’d been painfully shy about it at the beginning, before Jeremy had shown by example that Ryan could initiate casual touch, could pat Jeremy on the shoulder and receive the same, or lean into him, even reach out to his partner for a hug. 

Over time, he’d discovered, somewhat unsurprisingly, that Ryan was only ever touched with the intent to hurt before he’d found Jeremy. Even, Ryan explains through shakily remembered, dream-like memories, before he’d joined the Agency. He’d been there longer than Jeremy had and always, inevitably, experienced the most severe mistreatment they thought to mete out. Jeremy wasn’t sure for how long Ryan had been stuck with the Agency, just knew that it was long enough to chisel away at him, unbalancing his mind, body, and soul.

It had left Ryan with a whole host of hang-ups, although Jeremy would never hold them against his friend. Instead, he eagerly sought to help Ryan make up for lost time, taking every opportunity he could to treat him to gentle, kind touches. 

Predictably, it still got overwhelming for Ryan sometimes, leaving him a blushing, shaky mess, at once craving his familiar intimacy with Jeremy and wanting nothing more than to push him away and be left alone, reminiscent of an abused kitten Jeremy had taken care of in his past life. That’s where the collar came in, a mutually beneficial solution for an increasingly insidious problem for the pair, something that came from the now familiar state of half-known half-imagined. 

Jeremy and Ryan operated on a level of intimacy that meant they could level each other out, could help each other recuperate from injuries and scars physical or otherwise. Life at the Agency, full of missions that left them at the brink of death, full of punishments that left them broken and scrambling to put themselves back together, meant that pain became commonplace. Their memories became fallible, unreachable, untrustworthy, and simultaneously the only thing that kept them sane, the only thing proving that what they were going through actually happened. The collar became their safe place. 

The collar meant that Ryan didn’t have to worry, that he could fully let go and leave Jeremy in charge. He didn’t have to contend with the shame or self-loathing, didn’t even have to be scared, because his Battle Buddy, who held Ryan’s life in his hands at least a dozen times a week, had the reins again. And that just meant Ryan could surrender and let himself enjoy Jeremy’s touch. 

At the same time, the collar meant that truth returned for Jeremy again. That something solid and real and memorable existed between him and Ryan, even if it was only them, even if just for a moment. He could take care of his Battle Buddy, could build reality between them for a while. He was in charge again, in charge of their fates, capable of looking after them even in their helpless situation. It meant that Jeremy had power and control while he and the person he cared for most experienced daily abuse from the Agency. 

When they escaped, the collar got lost in the same rubble that the rest of their memories did, at least until the party. They couldn’t be happier that they’d found it again.


	6. Exhaustion

Geoff Ramsey cares about his crew. He's a relentless asshole to them, and more willing than anyone in the world to laugh at any of their expense, but ultimately he's a good friend and a good leader. Which led him to tonight. 

"Dude. Go to sleep." Geoff grumbles tiredly. "If you don't go to sleep, I can't go to sleep."

"Yeah. Okay. Soon, I... just have to..." Ryan trails off, shuffling his papers around and making it extremely apparent that he's barely paying attention to Geoff. "...um... finish something." Geoff spins around in his chair to get a better look at his friend. The dark circles under his eyes look almost bruised, and he's uncharacteristically rumpled - his shirt wrinkled, his jacket and mask discarded, his hair tousled. He's squinting at his papers, clearly exhausted. Geoff frowns. 

"You said that, like, three hours ago." 

"I know, I know. It's fine. Don't worry about it." Ryan mumbles absently. Geoff sighs. Rolls his eyes. Sighs again, more dramatically this time. Gets to his feet. 

"Ryan, you're being dumb. You need to get some rest. We've got a job tomorrow." Geoff comes up behind his hitman and places his hands on Ryan's shoulders, absently rubbing the tight muscles. Ryan's head droops forward a bit, letting out a small, pleased sigh at the attention.

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, I - I just have to get this done.” Ryan replies distractedly. After a moment, he glances up at Geoff. “You don’t have to worry about the job, okay? I'll be fine, I swear. We'll do fine." Annoyance flares powerfully in Geoff's chest. He wasn't worried about the job - it was lower stress and lower stakes than pretty much any job they'd done in the past year - he cared about Ryan. 

"We talked about this - that's not what I'm concerned about! You've barely eaten or slept for days. I'm worried about you." Ryan finally looks up at Geoff, expression a mixture of surprise and sheepishness. He chuckles nervously, a reflexive smile of reassurance spreading across his face.

"Geoff, don't worry, seriously. I'm fine, I’m just busy right now. It doesn't even matter, really, I just have to get some work done -" Geoff interrupts him with a loud frustrated growl, causing Ryan to jump and watch him with wide, nervous eyes. He raises his hands in surrender, clearly intending to appease Geoff's worry. 

"I'm okay, Geoff, really. I've been resting and eating and everything, just like you wanted." Geoff wants to object to that, because Ryan barely breaks five hours a night even now, when he was actively trying to rest more for Geoff's sake. Not to mention his eating habits - the guy can barely remember to eat two meals in a day. But right now, he'll choose expediency. 

"Yeah. Okay, no you aren't, but sure. That's not what I'm talking about right now." Ryan frowns, brow furrowing. 

"What are you talking about, then?" Geoff's fingers trail across the soft skin of Ryan's neck, watching his reaction. 

"You've been pretty tense lately. Been a real workaholic. Someone needs to look after you." Ryan swallows, watching Geoff with wide eyes and letting out a soft, needy noise. 

"O-oh." 

"Yeah. That's what I thought." Geoff mutters to himself. Without another word, Geoff tugs the papers out of Ryan’s hands, slamming them down on the desk, and grabs Ryan's arm to drag him out of the meeting room. Trapping the younger man against himself, he pulls Ryan off balance and forces him to stumble to his feet, leading him through the penthouse and over to his bed. 

"Geoff, wait, don’t. I still have things to do, Geoff." Ryan pleads, trying to pull away. However, his exhaustion makes him much too weak and far too slow, and Geoff has little difficulty keeping him in place anyhow.

"No, Ryan. Look, I'm your leader and your friend, and it's my job to make sure you're okay. Especially if you won't ever take care of yourself." Geoff pushes Ryan backward onto his bed, the other man falling with a yelp against the mattress. 

"No, I don't have time for this - " Ryan immediately struggles against Geoff, trying to get back on his feet. 

"Stop." Geoff says the word authoritatively, but not aggressively, and to their mutual surprise, Ryan obeys without a fight - not even the inevitable protests he always makes when he thinks someone is abusing their authority. Instead, he sits, blinking owlishly at Geoff and waiting for his leader's next move. Geoff meets his gaze directly, and with a firm push, lays Ryan out on his back. Ryan's breath hitches, remaining pliant in Geoff's grip. "Now, you're going to stay here and get some rest." 

"But -" 

"Shh." Ryan tries to sit up and Geoff plants a hand on his chest, pushing him back down and moving forward to straddle him. Geoff leans over him and reaches for his collar and leash. With one hand, he keeps Ryan pinned firmly against the mattress with his entire body weight, and works deftly with his other hand. 

“Hey, you can't always - you can't just do this every time we have an argument." Ryan grumbles, but he doesn’t struggle against Geoff. 

“Hush.” Geoff replies, and Ryan reluctantly obeys. 

Once Geoff is finished, he sits back up and moves off of Ryan. As soon as he’s free, Ryan immediately tries to sit up again, but there's a tug at his neck. "What?" The leash is tangled up in his bedframe, while the collar, of course, sits comfortably but firmly looped around his neck. He whips his head up to look at Geoff, who watches with an unreadable expression on his face. 

"Geoff? Did you - did you tie me to the bed?" Ryan asks weakly.

"Are you going to be good?" Geoff asks in a low tone, swelling with confidence and authority. Ryan's breath quickens again, eyes darting between Geoff's, the familiar strange, nervous energy bubbling through his body - a dazed sort of pleasure. He just wants to listen to what Geoff says now. He doesn't want to fight anymore. 

"If you can lie there and relax for five minutes, I'll untie you. I promise." Honestly, Geoff fully expects Ryan to roll his eyes and pull himself free to get back to his work, but instead, he reclines against the bed. 

"Fine." Ryan murmurs quietly. 

"What, really?" Geoff can't help his surprise, temporarily breaking his authoritative persona. 

"You were right. You're my team leader. You - you know what's best. I’m sorry. I'll be good." Ryan's murmurs, tone docile. Warm affection spreads in Geoff's chest at the sight of Ryan obediently curled up in the corner of the bed. 

"Good boy." Murmurs Geoff, raking his fingers through Ryan's hair in the way he knows Ryan likes. Ryan shivers, and Geoff leaves to go wait until Ryan's five minutes are up. He's carefully maneuvers where Ryan can’t see him, letting the man relax instead of just watching Geoff. For some reason, Ryan's increasingly immediate submission makes Geoff nervous. It feels as though Ryan is starting to trust him more and more - and while that's brilliant, it makes Geoff scared that he's going to let his crewmate down. 

When Geoff returns after the five minutes elapsed, Ryan's eyes have finally shut and his breathing has slowed. Careful not to disturb him, Geoff carefully works the leash loose and pulls it free. Ryan's eyes flutter open, watching Geoff's movements tiredly with a half-lidded gaze. He doesn't make a noise, and doesn't make any move to get back up. 

"You doing okay there, Rye?" Geoff asks him quietly. Ryan nods. 

"'m good." Ryan murmurs. 

Geoff smiles warmly at him, carefully brushing his hair back and planting a gentle kiss on his forehead. "You were very good, Ryan. Now just get some rest." Ryan nods again, and his eyes fall shut. He curls more tightly around his pillow, and Geoff pulls his blankets up over him. 

***

The next morning, however, Geoff decides to bring something up that's been bothering him since the last time he'd had Ryan in his bed - after he'd been so scathing towards him when the rest of the crew died. 

He waits for the younger man to start stretching in the bed, returning to consciousness, before he speaks. "Ryan?" He asks. 

"Mmm?" He replies absently. Geoff hears his neck and back cracking as he stretches. 

"Why won't you... why can't you believe that the crew cares about you?" Ryan blinks, visibly processing, before he sits up, arms folded, immediately defensive. 

"I - I believe you care." He protests. 

"But you never take care of yourself. And without your collar, you don't let other people take care of you either." Ryan blushes. 

"Well, can't we just use the collar, then?" He asks petulently. Geoff sighs. 

"Yeah, of course, but... I'm just worried about you. We love you. I love you. We all want you to be happy and safe and healthy. We want you to care about yourself the way we care about you." Ryan's face has gone bright red. He looks like he wants to explode in embarassment. 

"O-okay." Ryan mumbles, barely audible. He makes to get out of bed, and Geoff reaches out to grab his arm. 

"Wait." 

"What?!" Ryan says, distress clear in his tone. 

"Ryan, please. Talk to me. What's wrong?" 

"Nothing's wrong, I just don't want to talk about it! Just let me go!" Ryan says. 

"Ryan, please!" Geoff urges again, and Ryan stills. 

"Fine. I just... don't know what to say." Ryan mumbles. 

"Just say what you feel. Anything. Please." Ryan stares down at his hands. 

"Okay. I just - I guess... I don't... really know what to do with it. My... responses, I mean. When people say they care about me, o-or actually do care about me." Geoff stays quiet, just letting Ryan talk. "I don't know, is that stupid? I just - I just feel weird, and my chest gets tight and kinda tingly, and I feel embarassed and hot all over, and I want to go run and hide when that happens." 

"It's not stupid, Rye. Does it ever feel okay to you?" 

"Yeah! O-of course, it - it sometimes feels good, even! It just makes me feel weird and out of control and kind of scares me." Ryan confesses. "I don't understand it." 

Geoff sighs. "Rye, I'm serious when I say that I'm concerned about you." 

Ryan looks away. "I - I know." 

"So here's the thing. I wanted to ask you - would you be willing to see someone?" 

"Huh?" 

"I mean, a mental health professional." Ryan's eyes widen and he shrinks back a little. 

"A-aren't those expensive? I couldn't do that." Geoff has to pause for a second. He figures it's a mindset thing - he sometimes thinks that way too, remembering the early days in Los Santos, before the Fakes owned the goddamn place. 

"Ryan. We have more money, the both of us, than we could spend in a hundred lifetimes. You know this." 

"I - I suppose so." 

"So is that a yes? I'll arrange everything, you just have to show up, okay?" 

"Okay, that - that actually sounds good." Ryan murmurs with a soft little smile. "Thank you, Geoff." 

"Hey, buddy. That's what friends are for." Geoff replies with a wide smile. "Alrighty, no more slacking off. Let's get back to work."


	7. Boundaries, Part 2

A few weeks later and Ryan had started therapy. He had only been to a few sessions, and honestly? It was horrifically uncomfortable. With even the smallest memories resurfacing, Ryan came to realize he has no idea how to cope with his own emotions – his own memories. The therapist is humiliatingly nice about it. Ryan feels like he should be better – that he shouldn’t need a therapist to walk him through this, even though he knows there’s no shame in it. 

So, even though everything in his mind feels like its tearing itself apart, Ryan trusts in the process. After all, the therapist indicated that things would only get worse before they got better, and as long as they worked hard and consistently, Ryan would see improvement. 

Ryan tries his best to comply with her advice. He does his “homework” in between sessions – including keeping a mood diary and writing about his overwhelming emotions. He has workbooks and exercises and a whole host of other things to learn and do that Ryan would never have imagined even a year ago. He’s even scheduled to meet with a psychiatrist, too, who will give him medicine, his therapist says, to help level him out through therapy. 

Most unfortunately, however, Ryan had started to uncover a few things about the Agency, and each of them fully overwhelmed him. He’d spent many of the days since he started therapy with Jeremy, who’d started going to a therapist of his own. 

They’d gone through the Agency together, and with fragments of their decimated memories starting to resurface, the two men found comfort in each other. Many times, when Ryan became overwhelmed, Jeremy would bring out the collar. Which led the two of them to discuss how the crew used the collar. Which led them to how Geoff used the collar. 

“I don’t know if I want Geoff to use the collar anymore.” Ryan murmurs, leaning his head against Jeremy’s thigh. Jeremy’s sitting up on the couch, Ryan’s sitting on the floor and letting Jeremy pet him. 

“Why?” Jeremy asks kindly, his hand not stopping its progress in Ryan’s hair. 

“I don’t know.” Ryan says. Jeremy doesn’t pause his petting. He knows that Ryan will continue speaking if he just waits. “I mean. I think… I think that he’s nice.” Ryan pauses again. 

“Well, okay. I know you love him, Rye. You can be upset with him over something and still love him.” 

“I guess so.” Jeremy just lets Ryan take a moment and think. 

“So what’s up, Rye-Bread?” 

“Well, he – he takes care of me. He takes care of all of us.” 

“Yeah.” 

“And sometimes he does it with the collar.” 

“Okay.” 

“Well, sometimes it feels like he’s doing it when I don’t want him to.” 

“Yeah?” Jeremy asks, abruptly alert. “Does he do anything to you that you don’t want?” 

“I mean. Sort of.” Ryan mumbles. 

“Really?” Jeremy asks, fully stopping his petting, now. “Ryan? What happened?” 

“No, no, Jeremy, don’t freak out. Please, don’t freak out.” 

“I’ll try, Rye. Please tell me what happened.” 

“It’s nothing that bad! Really! I just mean, well, it’s gonna sound stupid when I say it.” Ryan says, clearly starting to get upset. 

“I promise it won’t, Rye.” 

“Fine. It’s just – sometimes Geoff decides that I don’t look after myself well enough, and he uses the collar to make me take better care of myself. So it’s not really a bad thing, it just feels bad sometimes.” 

“Okay, Rye. What about it makes you feel bad?” 

“I don’t know.” Ryan protests again. “I think it just reminds me of the Agency, kinda. That he’s trying to control me when I don’t want him to control me.” Ryan says, pausing again to think. “I think I’m figuring out, kind of, how to want things. And sometimes I don’t want what he does.” 

“He hasn’t… hurt you, has he?” 

“No! No! I – I don’t think he means to do anything bad. I don’t even think he realizes what he’s doing. I just don’t like it. I don’t know what to do about it.” 

“I think you should talk to him, Rye.” Jeremy says firmly. 

“I don’t want to! That’s – how can I say that? ‘I hate it when you want me to take care of my needs, how dare you?’”

“No. You can just explain it the way you explained it to me, buddy.” 

“I guess so.” Ryan says with a frown. Jeremy watches his expression with a frown of his own. 

“I mean, I think that… since we’re all in a relationship, we need to set boundaries with each other about what we actually want.” 

“But I don’t know what I want. What should I tell him?” 

“Rye-Bread, you’re the only one who knows what you need, boundary-wise. I think it’s a good idea to set the record straight with Geoff, but I can’t tell you what you want or need from him.” 

Ryan groans. “Ugh. Fine. I’ll figure it out. I’ll talk to him.” 

“You sure? You want to?” 

“Yeah. I want to, really.” 

Jeremy ruffles his hair affectionately. “Good boy.” 

*** 

Ryan finds Geoff sitting in the living room, laptop on his lap, headphones on, oblivious to the world around him. Ryan feels an abrupt fear, wanting to retreat, but he sees Jeremy sternly shaking his head at Ryan. Ryan frowns. Jeremy’s right, though. He can’t put this off.

“Geoff, I wanted to talk to you.” Ryan mumbles, looking shyly over at him. 

“Sure, buddy. What’s up?” Geoff asks. Ryan just stares at him for a long moment, gathering his nerve. “You okay, Rye?” 

“Yeah. Look, can we go talk, um, in my room?” 

“Sure, I guess that’s fine.” Geoff replies, and lets Ryan lead the way. Ryan glances back and sees Jeremy flashing him a thumbs up. 

In the privacy of their room, Ryan settles down with Geoff on the bed. “So what’s going on, Ryan?” Geoff asks, not unkindly. 

“Um, well. I – um.” Geoff watches him, and Ryan feels his face heat up. “I’m just a little nervous.” 

“It’s okay, bud. Just take your time. Don’t worry.” 

“Okay. Uh, I’m not sure how to say this. I guess, um, well, my therapist and I have been working on some stuff. Like, past stuff.” 

Geoff smiles. “That’s good, right?” 

“Yeah. Yeah. But it means that a bunch of stuff from the Agency is coming back.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry, Ryan. Really. Do you want to talk about it?” Geoff asks, and Ryan feels himself getting warm with embarrassment and discomfort. 

“I don’t know. M-maybe sometime. But not yet. I just, uh, I don’t want – I don’t think I want you to use the collar the way you do.” Geoff blinks, clearly surprised. 

“What? Uhm, what do you mean?” Geoff asks. Ryan stares at his hands. 

“Well, I said with Jack that – that the crew could use it, and that I trusted them. But, I don’t know. I think I want the collar just to be something that I use, a-and make the rules about. I want to use it to relax, or – or get out of my headspace. Or, I don’t know, anything. And I appreciate that the crew is willing to help me with it.” Ryan says, biting his lip and picking at his nails. 

“But sometimes it kind of feels like you’re using the collar to punish me, and – and not in a good way. More like you want to change me.” Ryan rushes to say, words stumbling slightly over each other as he hastens to force them out. “I just – the Agency controlled everything in my life – mine and Jeremy’s. They decided what was best for us at all times. And it kinda feels like you’re doing the same thing sometimes. When we use the collar. And not in the way I want it.” Ryan sits, shrinking back against the wall. The poor man seems so scared. 

For a long moment, Geoff just gapes at him. “Ryan… I never… I didn’t mean to do that to you. I’m so fucking sorry.” He says. “Oh, god. Are you – are you scared of me? Am I like the Agency?” 

“No, no. I’m not, you’re not. I just wanted you to know wha-what my needs are. And my – my boundaries.” 

“That’s – that’s okay, that’s good! Geoff immediately encourages. “I’m so sorry, I swear.” 

“Well I – I think you didn’t realize what you were doing. So, I forgive you. I’m learning about how to take care of myself and how to want things, a-and how to protect myself. So please – please respect that part of me. Even when we’re using the collar.” 

“I will, I will. I’m so sorry, Rye. I didn’t mean to do that to you. I won’t use the collar unless you consent to it. Enthusiastically.” 

Ryan smiles shyly. “Thanks, Geoff. I – I think we’re both learning about this stuff. And I really did appreciate that you want me to take care of myself and that you want to take care of me. But I think I just want to have better boundaries with the collar. I want it to be used my way.” 

“I understand, Rye. I won’t treat you like that again.” 

“Thank you, Geoff. Really. I love you.” 

“I love you too, Rye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Katie for pointing out the need for another consent discussion in this fic. I hope this chapter does it justice - please let me know in the comments what you think.


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